Crap. Crap crap crap.

I hate it when I get this way.

I've been in a funk for the last few days. I got three recent rejections (from On Spec (7 months), Zoetrope (5 months), and Flytrap 2 (5 days; though Tim's letting me send him something else)). My Literary Postmodernism class is kicking my butt; my brain has never had to work so hard. And for the last few days, I've felt indescribably lonely, and cannot pinpoint why. A lot of it is missing the hell out of my lady; I don't know how I'm going to make it another three or four months without her.

At least I'll get to hear her voice in an hour. A quick fix to get me through a few more days.

I just hate being at the mercy of the government like this, with no way to find out how much longer they'll take approving her fiancee visa.

Guh.

Times like these make me desperately wish we had matter/energy transporters.

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Now Reading:
The Writing of the Disaster by Maurice Blanchot

Stories Out to Publishers:
5

Books Read This Year:
35

Zines/Fiction Mags Read This Year:
32